"There you go again," he answers, "asking me to speak for my entire gender. I have no idea; by the way, they're not my thing, so I can't enlighten you there."
"So enlighten me another way," I say, the strength of my drink starting to kick in, "what is your thing? What gets your heart going?" I know I'm being bold, but that's kind of what I do. After all, Kane and I have flirted, we've kissed, and here we are, sitting on our almost third date, I'm down with taking things slow, and I'm not satisfied with a simple flirtation anymore. If my boldness intimidates him he doesn't show it, he just looks at me in that way he does- like he's studying me to see what makes me tick. And he can look at me any way he wants as long as he keeps looking at all.
"There's no way to answer that question without destroying the bad-boy facade I've worked so hard to build up. I have a reputation after all." He's joking again but I know that he wants to be real with me, although I have no idea what he wants to say.
"Screw your reputation," I say bluntly, the alcohol working a little too well as I take yet another sip, "let's hear it. What gets your heart racing so fast you think it might best out of your chest? What makes your pants a little tighter down below?" I'm waiting for the usual guy answers: a big ass, a small waist, whatever, and then he looks at me in a totally different way than he ever has before; in an almost innocent way, right into my eyes.
"You, Dacia. You do that to me."
If I thought time stopped a second ago when I looked into his eyes, the universe implodes when I hear those words. They're spoken so honestly that it excites and scares me at the exact same time, and I don’t know what to do with myself. If he had said it first; that is, if his words hadn't been an answer to my own question, they'd probably sound like a cheesy, unimaginative pick up line - Hey there, beautiful, I saw you from across the room and my heart skipped a beat. But it isn't a rehearsed line, and he doesn't need to pick me up. He has me, here at this table, and I'm not going anywhere.
"What?" I ask him, rhetorically.
"It was hard to say the first time, are you really going to make me say it again?"
"No," I say gently, reaching across the table and putting my hand over his. "I'm not going to make you say anything. But I am going to make you get me the hell out of here and take me to your place right now." I'm sure Kane Marsden has had his share of women, and no doubt some of them have been direct, but I know no ones ever looked at him with the kind of crazed, passionate intensity that I can bring. I want him so bad that I can feel my underwear moistening beneath the table, and there's only one thing that needs to happen.
"Umm, excuse me," Kane says, motioning to the waitress walking by, "I apologize but my friend here isn't feeling well, and we're going to have to cancel our order. I do apologize."
"Don't worry about it," she says to Kane before looking over at me, "I hope that you feel better."
"Oh I think I'll feel better soon."
We waste no time in getting out of there, and before I know it we're in Kane's car, flying so fast down the road that it feels like I'm in a dream. I open the window to let the wind hit me in the face as we drive, and I'm throbbing with anticipation for what's about to happen. Deep down I've wanted this for a long time, but only recently have I let myself feel it. Kane's not the cocky, arrogant brother of the near-perfect Wesley Marsden, he's his own man: complex, conflicted, ambitious, and hot as fuck! And right now he's mine.
It seems like no time at all before we reach Marsden Manor - basically the castle that the Marsden kids grew up in, and where Kane still calls home. The first time I came here was under very different circumstances. I was a passenger, like I am now, but the driver was Mia, and we came here after a fairly dramatic end to a dinner party where Kevin and I met the mysterious Wesley Marsden, Kane's brother, for the first time. That evening had ended in a blowout between Mia and Wesley, and I had suggested driving here to find him. Now I'm back, but in a very different context, and the place is as majestic as I remember it.
It's easy to forget how rich - actually, I think wealthy might be the right word - the Marsden family is. Their family home alone speaks of uncountable wealth - the type you only ever read about, but never get to experience in person. We pull into the driveway around the side of the house and get out of the car. When we get inside it's all I can do to not rip his clothes off.
SEX SCENE HERE 1 here
Chapter 12
I wake up in a huge bed next to Kane's naked body, his arm still around me from when we fell asleep. My body is sore, but sore in the best way possible; the kind of sore that you hope never quite goes away, because it's a reminder of what made you feel that way in the first place. I need to sit up, though, and when I move out of place Kane opens his eyes immediately. "Light sleeper?" I ask as he rubs his face with his free hand.
"Not last night, I slept like the dead, but you wore me out."
"Did you think it would be any other way?"
"I think that what happened last night exceeded just about every fantasy I've ever had of you."
"Woah woah," I say, jolting up,"you've Fantasized about me before?" I'm legit surprised.
"Once or twice, yeah." He says looking embarrassed.
"Once or twice?"
"Okay at least forty-seven times, but who's counting."
"Wow." It's all I can say.
"You can't be that surprised," he says, "presumably you've looked in the mirror once or twice in your life, right? You've seen what I see when I look at you. You asked me about what guys think last night at dinner. In this case I feel comfortable speaking on behalf of my gender, every straight guy who sees you fantasizes about you. That's the truth."
Before I can respond he jumps up out of bed, almost as if he doesn't want me to say anything back, so I don't. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."
"I'm naked; I have limited options for mobility at the moment." He smiles and goes into his bathroom. In the midst of passion I hadn't noticed last night, but Kane's bedroom is covered in built-in book shelves. Wall to wall he has hardcover books that encircle you when you're on the bed, and there's nowhere to look that they're out of sight. I put on my shirt and walk over to a random bookshelf to see what he's read. I don't even know what half of these books are, but I can tell that they're a mix of history books, biographies, science books, and all sorts of other topics. I know that I shouldn't be, but I'm a little surprised. Kane never came across as an intellect to me, but he clearly has a wide range of interests.
My head is tilted to the side trying to read the titles on the spines of some more books when I hear his voice from behind me. "I can make some recommendations if you're looking for a good read. There are a lot to choose from, and some of the best ones are in the library."
"I haven't been to a public library since I was in school." I sound dumb, that didn't come out the right way at all.
"No, you misunderstand," he answers, "I mean my library." I turn around. "Technically it was my parent's, but now it's mostly filled with books Wesley, Annabelle and I love. It's in the other wing of the house, these are just the ones I prefer the most."
"You forget how wealthy you are, don't you?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Because when most people refer to a library they mean the place you go in your town when you have to do a book report for school, not a wing of your house. And no one has 'wings' anyway, except rich people. Us normal folk just have a bookshelf in our good-old rooms." For a minute he looks embarrassed, like he's been speaking down to me, and he looks away like a little kid in trouble.
"I'm sorry, I forget. I'm not bragging or trying to be pretentious, it's just all I've ever known is this life."
"Must be nice."
"Some of it is, yes. You know, like having wings of your house." We both smile, and the mood gets a little lighter. "But some of it was terrible. I know that seems unimaginable from the outside, but our parents were...a little much sometimes."
"I know." I say, remembering some of the stories th
at Mia shared with me about their father and his insane drive for perfection in his kids. I decide to go back to the book conversation. "I would love some recommendations, I love to read but barely do anymore."
"That's a shame. How come?"
"That's a longer story. How much time do you have?"
He looks down at his naked wrist, pretending that there's a watch on it, then back up at me. "For you," he starts, "all the time in the world." At this point he's walked right up to me, and I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck and lean in for a kiss. The second our lips meet my body remembers everything from last night, and I want his hands to cover every inch of my body again. My impulsivity gets the best of me all the time, and now is no different. I start to slide my hand down his leg as we kiss, only to open my eyes when he grabs it to stop me.
"You're not getting out of the conversation that easily." For a second I stand there, frozen, wondering what to think of what he just said.
"That's never happened before." I say.
"That's because the only thing those guys ever cared about was sleeping with you, and nothing else. I care about sleeping with you, but I want to know who you are even more." He stops and kisses me again, but not in a way that's meant to lead to anything more, just the kind of kiss that's meant to be reassuring and loving. "Now, about your lack of reading."
"Well if we're gonna be analyzing me then I have two rules."
"First one?"
"I'm gonna need food. Lots of it. Good food."
"Got it. And second?"
"I get to ask you questions also." To this one he seems a little more hesitant, but that could be me reading into the situation too closely. It doesn't take a but a few seconds until he concedes.
"Deal. Now I can't cook like my brother, so where am I taking you?"
"I think you know the answer to that, already, silly. I said I wanted good food, and lots of it, right?"
"Sally's?"
"See. Who's the genius in the Marsden family now?"
Most people would never dream of going to the place they work on their day off, but I still love being here as a customer. The place always smells like a happy childhood: fresh baked goodness in the air, smiling happy people (most of them, anyways), and just a general feeling of contentment.
Sally gives me a big hug when we walk in, almost like I'm a different person to her when I'm not messing up pancake orders and nearly getting into brawls with the other waitresses. She looks Kane up and down - mostly up - then he leans down into her outstretched arms and gives her a big (but gentle) squeeze. It seems so natural to be there with him, and being greeted like we are makes it feel even more like we're a couple. We get my favorite booth towards the back, and Sally knows not to even bother with a menu. I order for Kane like a couple in the 1950's - only I'm the guy.
"Two orders of the Waffle special, please." I don't recognize the girl who's waiting on us, she must be new. Kane doesn't say a word or protest in any way, he just lets me take control.
"So why don't you read any more?"
"You don't waste any time, do you?"
"The way I see it it's actually you who's wasting time, I asked you this question a half hour ago, but who's keeping track?"
"You're such a smartass."
"So I've been told. But if you know what a control freak I am you'd be impressed by me letting your order for me. I figure an answer to a 30-minute old question is at least deserved for that."
"I feel like you're at a disadvantage because I know things about your family I probably shouldn't - things you probably wish I didn't, but you don't know much about me, do you?" Kane nods his head, and I feel comfortable going on. "My mom was a drug addict. Like, saying she was a drug addict like I just did doesn't even do it justice. Mom was like one of those junkies you see in a documentary about heroin; dealers around all the time, equally strung out loser boyfriend in and out of my house growing up; things going missing around the house gone missing from Mom selling them so she could score, you name it."
"Jesus, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, I grew up in an after school special cliché. I was around that stuff so much that I started to think it's normal to have your mom steal your jewelry to buy drugs, or to sleep next to her bed so she didn't choke on her own vomit in the middle of the night, or, my personal favorite, visiting her in her drug rehab facility so often that the orderlies didn't even need me to sign in anymore. That was my life for a long time."
"And then what happened? What changed?"
"Mom beat the shit out of me one. Real bad. It made such a ruckus that the neighbors called the cops, and then Child Protective Services got involved, took me away, and Mom was declared an unfit parent by family court. I was young enough that the judge told her that if she got clean that I could go back to her home, under regular supervised visits."
"Did that happen?"
"No," I say solemnly. This conversation is bringing back a bunch of memories that I had no intention of ever revisiting, but I trust Kane enough to let him in. "She never got clean. She went in and out of attempts at rehab, in and out of court-ordered therapy and parenting classes, but she would always slide right back into her addiction, so I never lived with her again after that day the paramedics took me to the hospital."
Kane just listens, he probably had no idea how fucked up a story he was in for when he asked me what he thought was a simple question about reading
"Is she..." he stops himself a few words in and I know what he's trying to ask me.
"She's alive, I think. I mean, last I heard she's and...sort of well, at least for her, anyhow. She calls me every once and a while, usually high full of regrets, wanting to talk about the past. It's sad. She's sad." And now I'm sad talking about her. I don't usually talk about this with anyone," I confess to him, "Mia knows the stories, but that's from a long time ago, we never discuss it, and there's honestly a lot that she doesn't know."
"Like what?" He asks. It's a bold thing for him to do, especially considering Mia's my best friend, and he's asking me to tell him things about my past that even she doesn't know about.
"You've got a lot of balls asking me that."
"It isn't balls at all, but I get why you feel that way."
"What is it, then?"
"Don't get mad for me saying this, but I can tell that you want to tell someone those stories, otherwise you wouldn't have even mentioned it to me. Maybe Mia isn't the right person to hear about it."
"And you are?"
"Only you can know that," he says confidently, "and I'd never put pressure on you, but yeah, I think that I am the right person. At least I'm the person who'll never judge you, that much I know." His confidence is intoxicating. I can see why everyone would find him arrogant - even I thought he was about the cockiest guy I'd ever met- but he isn't. He just knows exactly who he is, and exactly what he has to offer me, and he makes no apologies for it. I almost don't know what to say, so instead of responding I just start talking, and tell him the story the way I remember it:
I had had a particularly shit day at school. Normal high school stuff: failed science test, boy trouble, but still, I was already in a terrible mood when I got home around 3:30 that day. I remember that it started raining right before I walked in the door, which didn't help my mood any, but there I was, an angst-ridden teenage mess coming home to a strung out mother and her latest freeloading, scumbag boyfriend. I remember thinking that I wasn't in the mood for her shit, and everything would be fine if she'd just let me go to my room. But why would things ever be so easy? Nothing ever goes according to plan like that.
What did happen was that Mom's flavor-of-the-week, creep of a boyfriend tried to put his hands all over me when she was in the bathroom. After I slapped the asshole and screamed like a crazy person he ran out of the house. When Mom came out to the ruckus and asked what had happened, I told her the truth, but she didn't believe me. Instead, she called me a liar, started yelling that I had ruined the 'best relationship she had ever had', and the
n started wailing on me with a closed fist. I tried to fight back, but she was so crazy that she broke my nose and blackened my left eye. A neighbor heard the commotion and called the cops, and then CPS removed me from the house.
Kane listens again with little obvious emotion - God, I'd love to know what he's thinking, probably that I'm nuts. "Still wanna be here with me after hearing about my fucked up past?" I ask, trying to not sound insecure and needy but not doing a great job of it.
"If it's possible I want to be here with you even more." He answers confidently.
"Why's that?"
"Because I'm amazed by your strength. I had an awful father who screwed me and Wesley up in our own ways, but nothing even close to what you went through. I don't know if I would have made it out of a childhood like that without being totally messed up."
"And what makes you think that I'm not totally messed up?" I give a half smile, the type that I don't mean to give; and awkward hybrid between the two emotions of embarrassment and seriousness that I'm feeling but hope he doesn't notice. "I mean, my life's a little bit of a disaster, if that's not an oxymoron."
"Why do you say that?" He asks.
"Well, let's examine the facts: I'm still slinging waffles and bacon for crappy tips, when my best friend's had a career for a long time; I'm actively being stalked by a crazy ex of mine who I was too blind to see was nuts when I met him; and I have no..." I stop myself when I realize what I'm about to say. And then I think about how important words can be. I'm about to say the word...
"Boyfriend?" He asks, as if he's reading my mind. I feel horrible the second he asks, but we haven't really had that discussion at all, despite all the intensity between us in the last week. And it's not that I'm afraid of the word or the idea, but I know that labels scare guys sometimes - most normal guys, anyhow.
"Yeah," I say softly, not wanting to double-down on what I just said, "sort of...I mean...I'm not sure how to say what I really mean, I'm sorry."
"Can I offer some thoughts on all of this, or so you just want me to listen?" His question hangs in the air as the new waitress brings us our cups of coffee and water. While she places them on the table and tells us our food is coming out soon - our standard waitress line to hungry customers- I think about his question. All the guys I've been with, or even just the guys I know in general, never ask if I want their opinions. I think it's a standard male thing to want to help; to want to solve probelems when they're presented to them, especially from a woman they love, but Kane asks for permission like a gentleman, and I appreciate his thoughtfulness.
Impressions of Me (Impressions Series Book 2) Page 10
